


Ashen Demon

by lusteralliance (orphan_account)



Series: Demon!Byleth [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ashen Demon, Demon!Byleth - Freeform, Found Family, Gen, YALL IM EXCITED, young Byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 14:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lusteralliance
Summary: Jeralt has been told by his married friends countless times that children are demons. But never in his life did he think that demons could be children.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOOOOOOHOO i love new dad jeralt sO much

Hunting in the southern woods was tough, usually.

Well, to Jeralt, it was more of a mix; some days he caught a doe, which could last him a good week or two, and other days he caught pneumonia. It was one or the other.

Today, he was hoping he wouldn't end up with the latter again, since he'd been ill for nearly five days and the last of his stores were running dry. He hoped his nets held, and that they held something good.

The mercenary hummed (and coughed) as he cleaned his dagger, then had some oatmeal and resolved to buy some more this evening at the village market. Jeralt then slung his bow and quiver over his back and slipped his knife in its leather scabbard, then sat down when he got woozy.

Early morning sunlight streamed through the thick birch canopy overhead as he headed out. Jeralt had no bookings today, which was good, since he wasn't feeling his best. He shivered and tugged his dark gray cloak tighter around over shoulders as he trekked through the thick undergrowth to where he'd set his last trap.

Over the soft birdsong and the chirping of grasshoppers, he heard struggling and the rustling of leaves. Excitement fluttered in his chest, and he raced towards the sound, jumping over gnarled roots and loose stones to where he saw something thrashing about in his net.

His anticipation became surprise, then confusion, then horror.

In the net, growling and gnawing uselessly at its prison, was a baby. But something about this baby yelled to Jeralt, "what the _hell_ is that?"

Its angry eyes bore black sclera and white pupils, and its hair was a tangled, dark turquoise mess. Its pudgy fingers and toes had teensy little claws, and it tore helplessly at the net with them and chewed on them with tiny fangs. Jeralt nearly went home and downed his bottle of cough medicine to pass out and forget.

He placed his bow on the ground and watched, interested, as the little thing shrieked at him and pushed at the net, trying to claw at him. This was no ordinary baby. Was it even a baby at all? Jeralt grimaced at the naked little creature slathering itself with mud and leaf litter as it tried to snap at him.

It started to calm down, reduced to huffing and sniffing, and Jeralt took out his knife (he didn't know why). When the thing spotted his weapon, it recoiled, its eyes widening. It whimpered and curled up in the grass, shivering suddenly. When it lowered its head, Jeralt could see the beginnings of two tiny reddish antlers poking out of his hair.

"Um," Jeralt cleared his throat. "Are you going to bite me if I free you?" The thing stared at him. Even if it was a human baby, there was no way it would understand Jeralt, so he wasn't even sure why he bothered. He hesitantly brought the knife closer to cut the net, and the creature burst into distressed tears, crying just like a baby.

Jeralt gasped when it cried blood. It dribbled down the little thing's face as it strained against the opposite side of the net, mewling and wailing with fear. What _was_ this sad, sad creature? When it opened its eyes again, they were a frightened, deep blue. Jeralt held his breath and cut a slit into the net, wishing he'd just caught pneumonia instead, and he put his knife away.

Just as he did, the creature blinked and its eyes returned to its hostile, freakish colors, and then it growled and leapt out of the net and attached itself onto Jeralt's arm, sinking its teeth into his leather armguard.

Jeralt grabbed the nape of its neck and pried it off him, holding it high in the air, and it struggled and squeaked as it flailed its limbs in the air. The tiny thing was a boy. Jeralt knew this now.

"Hey! Shh!" Jeralt hissed, and the baby-freak-thing-whatever snarled and spat like an angry kitten. He grumbled and pulled off his dark cloak, then stuffed the thing inside and bundled it up. Its muffled shrieks made him wish doubly that it didn't exist. Or he didn't exist. They were both ideal.

It popped its head out of the dark, warm folds, clearly angry but tamed by the thick fabric. It seemed it was cold as it started to nestle into the cloak, its eyes half-closing with serenity. Where was its mother-thing? Surely it had one?

Jeralt wiped it's bloody eyes with the corner of his cloak and watched it uneasily as it calmed, no longer fighting. 

"Is your mom around here?" he asked, and the creature didn't respond, obviously. Jeralt didn't have the patience or sanity to wait here for her. But leaving this poor thing out by itself was sentencing it do death; Jeralt remembered seeing its ribs while it was kicking in the air. 

Self-hatred boiled in his stomach as he got to his feet and hugged the thing to his chest, trudging off through the thick greenery towards home. 

"Let's get you something to eat."


	2. II

Jeralt fastened the last little leather pouch to the creature's right fist. He stepped back as the tiny thing waved its limbs about, then got upset when it didn't make any more claw marks in what was left of Jeralt's bedside table. It whimpered, curling up where it sat, and Jeralt sighed and wrapped it in his cloak.

"I'm not playing your games anymore, kid, thing, I don't even know," he muttered. "What do you eat? Lizards or something?"

He headed to his pantry with the baby in his arms, then remembered it was empty. He was going to go to the village today, to buy flour and oats and sweets. He was going to do normal things today. But there was a muddy, half-starved kid with antlers and claws clamped in the crook of his elbow; how in the world was he supposed to do _anything_? 

If Jeralt left it home, then it would decimate it. If he took it to the village…he'd get questions. And he was _not_ in the mood for questions. 

The baby freed one of its little bagged hands and squeaked, smacking Jeralt's chin with a small _pap_, and Jeralt nearly punted it out the window. He didn't have enough money to replace his window, so he found some string and tied up the cloak around the creature, then dropped it in a basket.

"You're going to _stay_ in there, so help me goddess, or I will...uh…" Jeralt's friend who had a little boy would spank him when he got on her nerves, but he didn't exactly feel comfortable slapping the rear of a semi-human creature he found in the dirt less than two hours ago. "...punish you."

The little thing mewled and squirmed in his cloak, and Jeralt shivered as he closed the lid of the basket and placed it on the table. He'd just be there for a little while. Nothing to worry about.

Jeralt puffed as he counted his coins; even _he_ thought he was a bad liar.


	3. III

"Um...Mister?"

"Yep?"

"Your basket's shaking."

Jeralt panicked and started making himself tremble. "U-uh! That's just m-m-m-me!" he laughed, stuttering as much as he could to the little girl staring curiously at his creature basket. "It's r-r-really cold!"

"It's summer," the girl observed, and Jeralt excused himself and ran. He barely reached the entrance of the village and he was already almost caught. He hid behind a tree at the edge of the marketplace, then slid the top of the basket halfway off. He flinched and slammed it shut when the creature, who had managed to free its limbs and body of his cloak, launched itself at him; a few of its little fingers got caught in between the basket and the lid, and it started to cry.

"Oh! Shoot!" Jeralt pushed the tiny appendages back under the lid. He squeezed his eyes shut as the muffled crying continued. Having a shaky basket was one thing, but trapping a wailing baby in a basket was another. He hated that this thing sounded just like a sad toddler. And he hated that he felt _awful_ for hurting it.

"Uh, um, shh, shh," Jeralt hushed the tiny thing. He slid the lid open a crack and continued to soothe the thing, and it sniffled and whimpered, and Jeralt smelled the blood that it had cried. Why did it do that? He removed the lid slowly, and he bit his lip when he saw the blood all over the creature's face and its fingers, too.

"Aww, man, I'm so sorry," Jeralt murmured, and he awkwardly placed the thing in his lap and wiped its face and hands clean. "You gotta behave, or else we can't get back home. I mean—" Jeralt caught himself "—to your home, and mine. We're gonna find your mom, and then I'm gonna give you to her."

The baby started gnawing on Jeralt's thumb, but with its gums instead of its creepy little fangs. Maybe it was being nicer. Jeralt placed it back in the basket, arranging the cloak so it made a nice bed. "Okay. Just be quiet for a little longer, yeah? We'll get out of here soon." The mercenary tugged his hand free of the creature, then ruffled its hair. It blinked, its eyes wide and deep blue. Why did they change? Maybe that was when it wasn't feeling completely malicious.

Jeralt closed the lid, and it didn't rattle it up or cry or anything. He let out a relieved breath and slipped back out from behind the tree, heading back to the marketplace in search of oats and a cold, cold drink.


	4. IV

"That's some mighty fresh meat you got in that there basket of yours, Jeralt!"

Jeralt blinked in surprise, turning to see one of his previous employers walking over through the throngs of market-goers with some bread in a bag. He'd had one of his prized family heirlooms stolen in the night, but thankfully the thief left a trail; Jeralt followed it, returned the heirloom, and got a pretty penny out of it, too. He felt bad for being unable to recall the guy's name for the life of him.

"What do you mean?" 

"There's blood drippin' out of it and it's gettin' all over your pants!" Jeralt nearly had a heart attack when he saw the dark scarlet blood staining his thigh. Was the baby thing crying again? 

"Oh, thanks. I need to wipe this up." Jeralt nodded in farewell, as he was holding a small sack of oats and grains under his arms, and he scrambled for cover.

The dark shop he ducked into was cool and empty. He placed his purchases on the ground and knelt beside them, opening up the bloody basket and gasping when he saw the little thing dissolving in bloody tears.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Jeralt spluttered, taking the creature under its arms and lifting it out of the basket. It whimpered and dug its fists into its sad blue eyes, huddling against Jeralt's chest as it cried. Jeralt looked about in the darkness as he patted its back and bounced the knee it sat on up and down. He'd seen a young mother comforting her newborn that way in the village a couple years ago.

And by the goddess did it work. The thing mewed and sniffled a bit more, then started to calm against Jeralt's chest. Why had it gotten upset? Maybe it was lonely. He glanced up and saw a small cloth doll on a shelf with other strange trinkets, and he took it and handed it to the little creature.

"Here, do you like this?" It held the doll in front of it and looked it up and down, then hugged it against its little chest and purred. Jeralt felt a smile on his lips as the thing kneaded the doll in pudgy, clawless fingers. Where did those tiny talons go?

"Ashen demon."

Jeralt nearly leapt ten feet in the air when he heard that soft, husky voice by his ear. The creature squealed and nearly fell off Jeralt's lap when the mercenary turned to stare at who had spoken.

He came face to face with a skeletal woman wrapped in maroon silks, with intricate golden embroidery at the hems and tassels that jangled when she moved. Her hair was a thin, tangled dark green bird's nest, with feathers dangling from silvery threads decorating it. Her face was masked by an ornate mammalian skull, with great curly horns crowning either side of it. Pale green eyes stared into Jeralt's very soul from where the animal would have done the same.

In other words, someone who must have lost her mind to alcohol and volcanic fumes for quite some time now.

"...What?" Jeralt breathed, hugging the baby closer to him when it started to shiver.

"An ashen demon. Is that not what you are holding?" The woman took a step closer, and Jeralt backed away. Another, and he backed away some more. "Will you stop? I'm trying to see it. I'm nearsighted."

"Oh." Jeralt didn't scoot away when she approached, but the little creature in his arms screamed with fear, flattening itself against Jeralt's chest. Jeralt placed a protective hand on its little shoulder as the woman knelt down. He must've gone into some kind of fortune telling shop. Just his luck.

The woman raised a bony hand, and she touched the baby's forehead. The baby's eyes roved the ground in terror; they did not turn black, and they did not narrow. He was afraid of this woman.

"What is an ashen demon?" Jeralt asked, pulling the creature away. The woman, with her hand still outstretched, shook her head and stood up. She was barefoot, and her footsteps left soft circles of warmth on the wood beneath her feet as she walked away.

"Come with me."

"No," Jeralt refused.

The woman stopped, and then the skull of the mammal turned and stared at him with piercing green eyes.

"It's afraid of you. I don't want it to suffer."

"Then place him in his basket and leave him be." Jeralt didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a pang of guilt when he said "it." He thought he should probably refer to the creature as a boy from now on.

Jeralt opened up the basket on the ground and placed the little...demon? inside. He mewled and squirmed, clinging to Jeralt in fear. The mercenary glared at the woman, who stood by the doorway, silent and ethereal like a ghost.

"It—he doesn't want to go in. Just tell me now and I'll be on my way."

The woman stared at him for a while. Then, she whispered, "A very, very special creature." Jeralt waited, but she didn't speak again.

"Is that all? What do they eat? Where do they live? I caught this little one by accident while hunting," Jeralt demanded, and the woman tipped her head slowly.

"The southern woodlands," she breathed.

"Yeah, what do they—wait. How did you know?"

Her green eyes bored into the child, and he started to cry blood into Jeralt's arm. "Hey, knock it off, you're scaring him."

"The ashen demon is a vessel of unimaginable power. Every thousand years, there is one." The woman held up one trembling finger, and a thin line of daylight coming in from the dusty, tiny window traced its silhouette in the darkness. One.

"What do I do with him?" Jeralt whispered, bouncing his knee under the ashen demon when it started to grow upset again. To think; a being of incalculable possibilities, just a tiny baby on Jeralt's leg.

"You must not let him know of this. Raise him as a normal boy. If he is placed into the wrong hands...he will wreak havoc on humanity. You be sure to keep him from the dark, Jeralt."

Jeralt flinched. "How do you know my name?"

"The guy said it outside before you came in."

"Right."

"Touched by shadow, he will bring the world to chaos. That is why he is called the ashen demon; he thrives among the ashes of the innocent."

"How do you know this much about him?" Jeralt whispered, and the baby mewled and started to suck his thumb. He was calm again.

"I've seen the last," the woman replied.

Jeralt's eyes widened. "What? But—didn't you say they only appear every thousand years?"

The woman nodded. "Yes." She drifted past him, then touched the books on her shelf of trinkets one by one. Her bony finger settled in the nook of a thick green volume's binding, and she slipped it out and handed it to Jeralt.

"Read him this. Read it yourself. Read it until you understand that up until now, the fate of the world wasn't in your hands. And now that it is, your failure to save it will bring only judgment from the goddess."

Jeralt narrowed his eyes, picking up the dusty book. 

"Just who are you?"

The woman stared at him.

"You will see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ejrjdr this ones super long my b


	5. V

"How does that feel? Good?" Jeralt asked, patting the baby's arm as he felt his new clothes. He seemed to like dark gray, for he took comfort in Jeralt's soot-colored cloak. The childrens' clothing Jeralt had bought for him was as dark gray as he could find. The fearsome ashen demon smiled, toothily, displaying his fangs as he hugged his cloth doll to himself. "Good."

Jeralt plucked him up in his arms and glanced out the window, into the forest as the sun began to set through the trees. He sighed, mussing the child's hair.

"Still don't know if you have a mom or not. That lady barely gave us anything, huh?" Jeralt chuckled and carried the little boy to his bedroom, then placed him on the pillow he didn't use and tucked him up to his chin in the warm blankets. "Go to sleep."

Jeralt couldn't help stroking the little one's cheek as he closed his big blue eyes. How in the world was he going to raise a child—and one of such importance, for the goddess's sakes!—when he could barely take care of himself?

When the tiny demon was asleep at last, Jeralt crept out and back into the kitchen. He neatened up his purchases in the pantry, then picked up the basket to wash it and let it dry. He heard a _clunk_ inside, and when he tipped it, the corner of the madwoman's book slipped into view.

Jeralt shuddered and took it out—on the cover, in small golden lettering, was a cryptic title:

"the fir t ash n d mon:  
by l eth"

Jeralt opened it up, and he sighed when he realized that the title was the only text not in ancient tongue. But the illustrations did not need captions. Curling flames that seemed to lick and singe the edges of each page, a fierce dragon and a ferocious man-like being with reddish horns and black eyes, blood bursting from them as the two beastly figures danced, frozen in the air in a battle of life and death.

That must've been the first ashen demon. He glanced at the cover, and the only letters salvageable from its name spelled "byleth."

"...Byleth." Jeralt glanced at the door of his bedroom, in which the ashen demon reborn slept hugging a cloth doll to his chest. "Byleth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should be more spaces between the letters of the first demon's name but ao3 won't allow it..
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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